


Last of the Real Ones

by PeppermintR



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22751824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintR/pseuds/PeppermintR
Summary: A Noragami inspired concept of the modern-day existence of the gods in the mortal world, unnoticed but still existing, protecting the citizens around them. Grantaire has been around for decades when reality dictates he shouldn't be able to exist and stumbles upon several gods residing in France.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Last of the Real Ones

It was a fine day at Café Musain. A place where Grantaire likes to spend most of his time lurking in the shadows, mostly people-watching. He’s usually unnoticed, seeing as he’s not actually a part of the mortal world and humans can’t generally comprehend the existence of the supernatural.  
He’s sitting in the corner, a black coffee on top of his table, his hand fiddling with the sugar packets that was served alongside it. Oh, what to do today, Grantaire wondered, tapping his index finger impatiently.  
“Will you please stop that?” he hears someone say on the table beside him. Grantaire startles at the voice and turns to look at who’s talking. It was guy—a gorgeous looking guy with a really beautiful blonde hair and a pair of bright blue eyes. He looked like he was blessed by Aphrodite, who he hasn’t actually seen in millennia. 

He doesn’t actually know what to say so he just kind of…just…stared. Years of being alone without interaction will do that to you, so yes, that’s the excuse Grantaire’s going with. 

The guy turns back to his friends, unaware of his inner turmoil. He was speaking really passionately about some human concern Grantaire probably doesn’t care about, except he picked up the words “Tartarus” and “Gorgons”. Now, they could just be really eager classics majors so Grantaire turns his focus back on the coffee cup in front of him and tried not to stare too much. 

-

The streets of Paris are as crooked and winding as he remembers it. Maybe he should travel around the world instead of just randomly roaming around Europe, but Europe will always feel like home. It’s where he feels the strongest. The most…whole.  
He was walking down the streets, kicked a stone in the way when suddenly—he sees it. A sudden movement in the periphery of his vision. It was dark but he can feel the a presence charging directly towards him. Grantaire sighed, the frequency by which he encounters such attacks are honestly not even surprising anymore, in fact it’s just sad. The stronger one's divinity is, the more monsters will be drawn to them, after all.

He was about to attack when the beautiful gorgeous dude he’s seen earlier suddenly stepped in front of him out of nowhere with a red coat and a pistol directed towards the Minotaur. 

“Shit. You’re a god?” Grantaire says involuntarily. The guy fires his pistol before glancing at him with narrowed eyes. He jumps back, grabbing Grantaire’s arm and pulling him back into safety. 

“And you are?” the guy says as he turns his attention back to the Minotaur that sprinted after recovering from the impact of the wound. 

Grantaire panics a little. He doesn’t really want word of his existence getting out to the pantheon.  
Instead, he just smoothly hits on the guy. “Grantaire. But you can call me tonight!”  
The guy looks at him deadpan. “Nice to meet you…Grantaire. You should probably help me with this, huh.”  
Crap. Grantaire couldn’t really use his divine powers or he’d be exposed. Luckily, he sees it, a white light fleeting about in panic—a spirit. Perfect.  
He runs to the direction of the spirit, which was unfortunately in the direction of the sprinting Minotaur.  
“Hey—wait--!” he hears the guy yell but he was already charging forward. Grantaire jumped, stepped on the shoulder of the Minotaur, further hoisting himself up and performed the naming ceremony as fast as he can.  
Mid-air.

He sees the spirit’s past life, a big burly man with a violent past and a humble death. He feels its chaotic energy. Grantaire grins. Honestly, he’s a perfect first servant. 

“Thee, with nowhere to go and nowhere to return,” he recites, his hand glowing bright. 

The guy sputters below him.  
“YOU—YOU HAVE NO SACRED INSTRUMENTS? HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?!” the hot guy says completely incredulous.

Well, Grantaire didn’t need one until now, in the off chance that they’ll meet again, Grantaire’s not keen on answering questions regarding his true name.  
“I shall grant you a place to belong! My name is Grantaire. Bearing a posthumous name, you must remain here. With this, I make thee my servant. With this name I use my life to make you a divine instrument. You are Bahorel! Come and transform!” the white light burst into a brighter blinding one, rendering everyone in the perimeter unable to see for a while. 

Bahorel as a weapon was a large double-headed axe with a dark wooden handle and bronze details. Grantaire saw a glimpse of his life and thought it fitting. He used the momentary blindness to deliver a fatal slash to the minotaur. The other guy used the opportunity to direct the bullet straight into the head of the creature.  
The minotaur fell to the ground with a thud before disintegrating and returning to Tartarus.  
Grantaire surveys his new axe, pleased, as the guy stomps towards him angrily. 

“Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Pontmercy. I release thee.” Suddenly, his coat, pistol, and his clear white goggles returned back to their human form. “You!” the guy yells accusingly pointing a finger at him. Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “How have you been surviving without a divine instrument?! Are you crazy?”

Grantaire smirks, amused. “No. I’m Grantaire. Remember?” 

The guy scoffs, shoulders getting progressively tense the longer they stand together, the vein in the gorgeous dude’s temples are throbbing like crazy.  
Finally, the guys snap back to reality. “You’re so annoying.” 

His divine weapon—the coat—interjected, smiling happily at him. “My name’s Courfeyrac. I serve Enjolras over here.” Courfeyrac slings an arm around Grantaire. Bia. Courfeyrac whispers. And suddenly Grantaire understands where all the intensity is coming from.

Bia, the deity of force, power, and raw energy. Enjolras’s presence alone brings out a very strong impact. The image of his past self with long flowing hair and a red flag, helping Zeus win the war against the titans, he could feel the sheer power that was capable of binding Prometheus himself, and a glare with the force of a thousand suns. The goddess Bia is currently standing before him, albeit in her male reincarnation. Whatever, divine beings are divine beings regardless of their gender. He really should stop succumbing to human sociological constructs. 

“Combeferre.” The other person, the pistol, held out his hand which Grantaire shook. He looks calculating. 

The white goggles, which Grantaire assumes is the one called Pontmercy bows to him. Grantaire lifts one of his eyebrows up. Combeferre immediately scolds him. Divine instruments should only bow to their masters. Bowing to other gods is an insult and a sign of disrespect. 

“So, let’s see Bahorel’s human form!” Courfeyrac says excitedly, ignoring Enjolras’s disbelieving looks. 

“Bahorel. I release thee.” Grantaire says and Bahorel transforms into his human form. He’s a large hulking figure with wide easy smiles and was about the same age as Grantaire looks. 

“I’m here! What? What happened?” he frowns, looking around the area, confused. “Am I dead? How did I die?” 

“Woahh there cowboy.” Grantaire says patting his back. “I can’t tell you how you died and stuff because it messes with your head and I might have to kill you but… you just became my weapon.”

Bahorel grins. “I’m a weapon? Awesome!!” And he proceeds to high-five all of them.

Enjolras just sighs. Who the hell is this god anyway?

\- 

Grantaire relishes in the darkness of the night. That was how he met Caerus—or Jehan as he likes to call himself. The god of opportunity, luck, and favorable moments. Grantaire likes to think that it was because of Jehan that he met the others.

He was sitting on one of the gravestones, a notebook in hand, and a sleeping wolf beside him. It was large, larger than Grantaire is and he is grateful that it seemed to be asleep.  
Jehan looked up. Surveying him for a moments before standing up. “Hello there. You can see me, that must mean you’re either a deity or a spirit. Which one?”

Grantaire’s mouth curved into a smile. “The former. Grantaire.” He holds out his hand. 

Jehan steps forward to shake it, a sweet pleasant smile on his face. “Not going to say who? That’s unusual, gods usually want to be acknowledged.” 

Grantaire’s smile doesn’t break. No one would really forget—rather, he can’t really stop existing. 

“Caerus.” He says, gleaming softly under the stars. He suddenly makes a lot of sense, thinks Grantaire. “But I prefer Jehan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

“Oh no, it’s my pleasure. How lucky, huh.”

Jehan laughs. “Lucky indeed.” 

He meets his second divine instrument on the same night. She felt lost and confused, flittering about, trying to find some sense of peace. He feels her regrets, her pain, her distress. He names her Eponine, after a human he fell in love with decades ago. Grantaire hopes she’ll find peace in her time as his servant. They can wallow in grief together, he thinks. 

Bahorel wasn't with him right now. Grantaire left him with the very famous god of medicine, Joly and his many divine instruments, to brief Bahorel on what he is and what's going to happen generally. Joly was the only one who knows his real name having gone to him the moment he regained consciousness. He knows his existence isn't favorable for the realm.

Grantaire walks, slung around Eponine’s figure who irritably pushes him away. 

“I didn’t want to exist again.” She says. 

Grantaire remembers what he’d seen, the life she had led, and her desires. He’s pretty sure Eponine was lying. 

\- 

Grantaire spots Enjolras a few streets down, Combeferre already transformed into a pistol and pointed at the beast above them. He looks majestic. The partially obscured moonlight was hitting his features just right.  
"R, focus on the beast not the golden boy." Grantaire hears Eponine beside him, reminding him of the task at hand.

“Right, well, come on then.” Grantaire says walking forward to the scene in front of him, holding out his hand and summoning Bahorel in his axe form. “Care for a hand?” he says smirking as Enjolras landed on his feet, hopping backward to avoid the onslaught of Harpies wreaking havoc around the city.

Enjolras growled, glaring at him. “Don’t get in the way.”

“Aye aye Captain.” he says jumping into action, hearing Eponine and Bahorel snort at his fake enthusiasm. 

Enjolras could’ve sworn the world just dimmed a little. Though, it was probably just the flock of Harpies covering the moon. 

-

“Have you ever noticed how we only see Grantaire at night?” Courfeyrac says, whispering conspiratorially. Bahorel laughs, loud and full-bodied. “Do you know anything Bahorel? You’re his weapon are you not? Is he Batman?”  
Bahorel shrugs. “Beats me. Ask Eponine, she’s the one who pledged her full loyalty to him. Didn’t you Miss Blessed Instrument? When exactly did that happen?”

“None of your business.” Eponine says, scotch in her hand, swishing the gold liquid around, a hand on her chin, looking impossibly bored. 

“Aw come on.” Courfeyrac pouts. 

-

“Grantaire! You’re here!” exclaims Antheia, or Cosette, a name she prefers. Her divine weapon, a bow, was gleaming in her hand. Grantaire thinks he recognizes its essence. 

“Unfortunately.” replies Grantaire, surveying the situation in displeasure. 

Enjolras turns to glare at him, Combeferre’s pistol form in hand. He doesn't have his goggles anymore, Grantaire observes. Ah, suddenly Cosette's divine instrument made sense. Pontmercy wasn't bound to Bia anymore.

"What are you guys going to do without me." he grins.

Enjolras is seething and hurting, a patch of corruption already on his face from when he got too close to Montparnasse, tainting him. “Be serious, Grantaire!” he snaps. 

“Be serious?” Grantaire laughs at the incredulity of the phrase. He opens his palm as Bahorel transforms into his weapon form, Eponine already on his ear, enabling him to see clearer, even from his distance.

He grins, baring his teeth, and taking a step forward. “I am Erebus. The primordial god of darkness. I am born of Chaos herself. I am wild.”


End file.
